


got your name on me in red ink

by grim_lupine



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always a girl, F/M, First Time, Genderswap, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grim_lupine/pseuds/grim_lupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look, she’s more than a little sure that Brad likes her. He doesn’t kick her out when his office hours are done and he’s supposed to be finished for the day, anyway. So it’s safe to assume that he likes spending time with her, he knows she’s intelligent, and she can tell he likes her smartass mouth; something in the curve of his mouth tells her he’d have a mouth to rival hers if he weren’t being so damn professional. All that’s left is whether or not he finds her attractive, and the thing that is so fucking exasperating about him is that, with Brad, she can’t quite tell if he doesn’t feel it at all, or if he just has it locked so tight that she isn’t able to see it. His control is just that good, and it’s really throwing Ray off her game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	got your name on me in red ink

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme, for the prompt: _College Professor!Brad/Girl!Ray._

-

\--

So, here’s the thing: Ray _likes_ sex. It’s fun, messy in the good way, and it makes her feel damn good. She likes sucking cock, eating a girl out, being fucked so hard she’s sore the next morning. She likes being held down sometimes, likes having someone go down on her until her thighs are trembling. Sex is fucking _awesome_.

Plus, she’s hot. There’s never really been anyone she’s been interested in that she’s had trouble getting.

Until junior year, when she walks into her Linear Algebra class, fully prepared to be bored out of her mind, and sees her professor for the semester.

“Good morning everyone,” he says, and oh _fuck_. He’s blonde and _tall_ , so fucking tall she could climb him like a tree; he’s leaning against the edge of his desk, tie loosened slightly at his throat, and to top it all off, he’s got a pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses that make Ray choke a little bit.

“I’m Professor Colbert, call me Brad if you dare, and you all are at my mercy for the rest of this semester,” he says, smirking, and seriously: _fuck_.

*

Ray’s actually damn awesome at multitasking: she can write a paper and simultaneously listen to Nate bitch (excuse me, _politely vent his frustrations_ ) about his Comparative Literature professor without missing a beat; she can do her laundry (when she feels like it; so, rarely) and compile a grocery list in her head, while egging Poke on in one of his characteristic rants; and guess what? She can walk and chew gum at the same time.

All of this skill goes out the window when she walks into Brad’s class.

She hears: “ _Blah blah blah_ linear systems _blah blah blah_ matrices _blah blah blah_ vectors,” and thinks of wrapping her thighs around his head, that quick mouth of his going to work on her clit, his hands gripping her legs so tight they’ll bruise, the way she likes it. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs. Most days she’s wet just walking into this class, already thinking of Brad. Her nipples feel tight under her shirt. The way he says “pivot positions” shouldn’t sound dirty, except for how it totally fucking does.

The trouble is that it’s not just the fantasies. Somehow, sneakily, the fuck if Ray knows _how_ , Brad has started making her want to do _better_. The one time she blows off studying for one of his quizzes and goes to a party instead, she bombs the quiz the next morning, totally blanking on almost every question. When he hands it back a day later, he looks at her like he’s _disappointed_ , like that isn’t the biggest fucking cliché in the world. I’m not angry, I’m just _disappointed_. Fuck him, and Ray really wants to, but the thing is—she’s kind of used to people taking her at face value, hearing her loud raunchy mouth and seeing the way she dresses and making assumptions about her, and she’s gotten used to them being pleasantly surprised when she proves just how smart she is. Brad never looks at her like she’s surprised him. He looks at her like he knows damn well exactly how smart she is, like she’s capable of the best, and he fucking well _expects_ that from her; and Ray wants to prove him _right_.

She always studies, after that; does it before parties, goes to them, gets fucked up against the wall in the bathroom by whoever she chooses, but the next morning her pencil’s flying across the paper and she’s thrumming with the comfortable feeling that she _knows_ this. She heads to Brad’s desk to turn in her paper, and at times like this she gets why everyone calls him the Iceman; sometimes she thinks she’s able to read him, but right now she doesn’t know what he’s thinking. His eyes flick over her quickly, and maybe they stutter over the bite-bruise high up on her throat, or maybe that’s just her wishful thinking; maybe he’s wondering what it would be like if _he_ were to fuck her hard and leave marks on her skin; or maybe he’s just waiting for her to hand him her damn quiz, and doesn’t think about her past that.

Only, somehow Ray doesn’t think that last is true. Brad takes the paper from her hand when she holds it out, and there’s a touch of warmth in his eyes, a curl to his lips when he says, “Is this going to be an A this time?”

“Fuck yes,” she answers, cants her hip, smirks. Wonders if the arousal beating hard through her shows on her face; wonders when she became this fucking needy.

Brad says: “Good,” and smirks back, and Ray tries to pretend like she isn’t greedily watching the curve of his mouth.

She goes back to her seat. Most people think she’s already plenty reckless enough, but if she were a little _more_ so, maybe she’d go to his office one day and drop down to her knees for him; see if he’d run his thumb over her mouth and fist a hand in her hair and tell her in his oh-so-calm voice to suck him off, or if he would just look at her in that unreadable Iceman way and tell her to leave. If she cared a little less about what he thinks of her, if doing well in his class didn’t matter to her so much, maybe—

Being responsible fucking sucks.

*

Ray eventually decides that if she isn’t allowed to hit on Brad in all the ways in which she wants to, she’s at least going to take every other opportunity she’s afforded to make him notice her. Maybe he doesn’t want to fuck her, but Ray has always prided herself on the fact that whether you like her or not, you will _never_ be ambivalent toward her. Life isn’t worth living if you can’t make people have opinions about you.

What that means is that Ray works her ass off to do well; studies for every quiz, does all her homework well ahead of time, answers all the questions Brad directs toward the class. Answers them with a smirk and her smart mouth, but answers them nonetheless.

What it means is that she drops by almost all of Brad’s office hours, ostensibly for his help with her homework, but if it turns into the Brad-and-Ray-Snark-Happily-at-Each-Other Hour, Ray definitely isn’t going to complain.

Look, she’s more than a little sure that Brad likes her. He doesn’t kick her out when his office hours are done and he’s supposed to be finished for the day, anyway. So it’s safe to assume that he likes spending time with her, he knows she’s intelligent, and she can tell he likes her smartass mouth; something in the curve of his mouth tells her he’d have a mouth to rival hers if he weren’t being so damn professional. All that’s left is whether or not he finds her attractive, and the thing that is so fucking exasperating about him is that, with Brad, she can’t quite tell if he doesn’t feel it at all, or if he just has it locked so tight that she isn’t able to see it. His control is just that good, and it’s really throwing Ray off her game.

What is this uncertainty bullshit. Ray is used to taking what she wants, she doesn’t _pine_ like some virginal B movie damsel in distress.

On days when it kind of pisses her off more than usual, Ray swings by Brad’s office hours with a liquid swagger that speaks volumes, a flirtatious _fuck you_ in her eyes, settles loose-limbed in her chair in a way that screams ‘I just got laid not twenty minutes ago, and it was fucking awesome, thank you very much’.

Brad never even blinks.

Fuck fuck fuck. _Fuck_ him.

*

One Thursday, Ray puts on her kind of armor: a deep red skirt that cuts off above the knee, a soft v-neck t-shirt and black boots that zip all the way up her legs. She looks _hot_. She’d probably fuck herself if she met herself somewhere.

 _Everyone wants a piece of this_ , she thinks to herself on her way to class, feeling the eyes tracking the swing of her ass; she repeats it in her mind when Brad faces the class and studies each and every one of them like he just knows exactly what they’re all thinking (it’s probably true); thinks it again when she crosses her legs, skirt sliding up her thighs a few inches. Wonders if it’s true.

When she leaves class and heads out to meet Nate for lunch, Nate blinks a few times when he sees her, says, “Did you go to class this morning, or did you pick someone up for a quickie?”

Ray grins at him. “Why, want to know the dirty details?”

“If something actually happened, I’m pretty sure you’d tell me everything whether I wanted to know or not,” Nate returns dryly, pushing an apple her way.

As ill-suited as they might seem to other people, Nate is actually kind of her best friend. Ray’s maybe a little bit in love with him, but that’s all right; Nate’s the kind of person that everyone’s a little bit in love with.

(They met freshman year in their first-year writing class, the two of them happening to sit next to each other, nearly everyone else in the classroom looking like they were either dead or about to pass out from boredom. Ray started arguing with the professor over the proper interpretation of Kant’s What is Enlightenment, and she still remembers the look in Nate’s eye; not surprised, like _huh, this chick actually knows something_. Just pleased, like _guess there’s someone else in this class with a brain_.

Half the reason they get along so well is that Nate may _look_ like a choirboy, but he’s got a wicked sense of humor and shares Ray’s love of upsetting people’s expectations. Ray is like 99% sure that if she were to ever get him into bed, Nate would be totally freaky and toppy and amazing, but she never got the chance to find out. When they first met, Nate had a girlfriend, and Ray doesn’t do that shit, and Nate is too much of a gentleman to even consider it. When the two of them broke up, Ray and Nate had been friends for almost eight months; she very magnanimously allowed him a period of two weeks to get over his heartbreak before she propositioned him.

Nate had looked at her, head cocked to the side. “As amazing as I’m positive it would be,” he said thoughtfully, “I think I should say no. You have a lot of friends, and you have people you sleep with, but for the most part the people you sleep with aren’t your friends. And I’d like to stay your friend. You’re pretty wonderful.”

Ray just stared at him for a moment. “Wow,” she said finally, mouth quirking up, “that was really fucking gay. Do you want to braid my hair now or something? I can totally do your nails.” She fell back laughing on Nate’s bed as he threw his pillow at her face.

“Some days I think the only thing that can explain why I continue to put up with you is a previously undiscovered masochistic streak,” Nate sighed.

“That’s a lot of big words there, Nate, you sure you understand them all?” Ray said, rolling over onto her stomach. Nate totally checked out her breasts for a split second, but didn’t look like he was changing his mind anytime soon. “And whatever, you’re just worried I’ll ruin you for other women forever.”

“That’s a very real possibility,” Nate agreed, and Ray kicked his ankle, grinning a little despite herself at the way he kind of sounded like he _meant_ it. Now, two years later, Ray has to admit to herself that Nate was right; he’s her best friend, and she loves nothing more than to argue with him over which dead philosopher is more kickass than another dead philosopher, or tell him how she slept with the blonde girl from his Friday morning class and all the ways in which it was _awesome_ and watch his ears go pink. It works for them.)

All of this is to say that Nate knows Ray pretty damn well, and he has the whole story out of her in less than two minutes, while she pushes her mac and cheese around her plate and tries to pretend like she isn’t totally fucked.

“So you want to fuck your professor,” Nate says slowly. “Well, clichés are fun.”

“Fuck off,” Ray mumbles, and shoves another forkful in her mouth before confessing the rest. Somehow it’s easier to talk about how she’s suddenly having all these _feelings_ and shit when she knows that she’s presenting Nate with the half-chewed remains of her meal with every word she speaks. The tiny disgusted faces Nate makes are abso-fucking-lutely hilarious.

“Okay, so you don’t only want into his pants, you want him to respect you as a person and all that other emotional fun stuff,” Nate sums up. “I’m happy for you? But I have to say, I’m kind of glad he’s being professional and not using his position of authority to—”

“Dude, you are the worst best friend ever,” Ray says disgustedly. “This is so not what I want to hear right now.”

Nate rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I forgot you like me better when you can turn me into a moral degenerate like you.”

Ray sticks her tongue out at him. Nate’s face dissolves into the clearest expression of _ewwww_ Ray has ever seen.

On that note, Ray kicks him in the ankle (for old times’ sake) and leaves for her next class, making a note to herself that Nate is _not_ the person to ask when attempting to ascertain the best way in which to seduce your irritatingly perpetually-composed professor.

On the plus side, she totally makes an asshole in her Ethics in Modern Society class cry when she verbally eviscerates him in front of everyone, so her day evens out pretty nicely on the whole.

*

And then, before she knows it, it’s finals week and her semester’s just about over. She has two papers to write, a project to finish and two more exams to study for, which leaves her with remarkably little time for thinking about anything other than schoolwork. She subsists for the whole week on Red Bull and so much coffee it’s like she’s trying to replace her blood with it, falls asleep on her notebook at two in the morning and wakes up an hour later with ink on her cheek, tries not to kill people just for breathing in her general vicinity.

Her last exam of the week (of course) is Linear Algebra, and honestly? Not even Brad can make her go to class in anything but pajama bottoms and her favorite sweatshirt for this one. Comfort clothing, yo.

Brad hands out their exams facedown, and looks at them with a shark-like menacing grin. “You have two hours for this exam. If you try to cheat, that will be very sad for me, because it means I haven’t taught you enough during this semester for you to think you can do this on your own; it will also be very sad for you, because I will catch you, and then make your life hell.”

The class laughs uncertainly. Ray just smirks.

At Brad’s “Go,” Ray’s pencil goes flying, reducing matrices into echelon form, solving systems, and she kind of doesn’t breathe properly until she finishes the last page. She checks over her work. Everything _looks_ right to her, but she knows enough to know that that means nothing when she’s running on about three hours of sleep and so much caffeine her leg’s been tapping relentlessly under her desk for the last hour and a half.

When Brad takes her paper he says softly, “Is this going to be an A this time?” and it’s an inside joke, something for the two of them, familiar; and Ray’s smile might crack a little bit at the edges when she says even softer, “Fuck yes,” because she honestly isn’t sure if this means that he’s done with her now, but regardless: it’s good.

She leaves with her backpack slung over her shoulder and doesn’t look behind her.

*

Brad sends everyone an email saying their final grades for the class will be up online in two days, and by that time Ray’s convinced herself that her confidence in her answers was just a sleep-deprivation-induced event, and she’s actually failed horribly, and Nate threatens to sneak into her room and smother her when she’s sleeping if she keeps panicking at him. She tells him she got seriously stiffed in the best friend department and puts salt in his coffee when his back is turned. The hilarious spit-take he does when he drinks goes a little way to calming her down.

“Thank you for taking one for the team, Nate,” Ray says brightly.

“I hate you,” Nate says mournfully, scrubbing his tongue with a napkin.

Anyway, when she gets the email saying grades are up, she sternly tells herself to stop being a pussy and clicks on it.

She blinks. Ninety-eight percent. Ninety- _eight_ percent? Holy fuck. She was going for a 93, maybe 94, is this for real?

“Is this for real?” she asks loudly, barging into Brad’s office. Brad looks up from his computer, and pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Were you raised by wolves?” Brad asks dryly, and whatever, knocking is for losers.

“Seriously, I got a ninety-eight percent? That isn’t a typo, right? Because that would be a really shitty thing to do to me,” Ray says, and watches Brad’s eyes crinkle up in laughter.

“Ray, go and close that door,” he tells her, leaning back in his chair, and Ray’s up and out of hers before she can even think about it. And there’s something in his tone of voice, something she hasn’t heard before but she’s been searching for this whole time that makes her just—

—she shuts the door and then turns the lock above the handle, faces the door for a few more seconds, heart pounding in her ears. When she turns back around, Brad doesn’t look surprised; just studies her in silence with a look like he’s slicing her open from the inside out, opening her up for study. Like he can see every one of her secrets laid bare for him.

“I didn’t expect anything else from you,” he says finally, so certain that Ray shivers a little. “And now you’re no longer in my class.”

And that’s when he smiles, slow and predatory, gives her a once-over so obvious that it makes her heart start pounding, arousal beating slick between her legs; and Ray thinks for a moment, _Really? **Now?**_ , because she’s in her oldest jeans and her hair’s in a weird bun/ponytail hybrid, and if the skirt and boots didn’t get her anywhere what the fuck is doing it for him _now_? Only, she realizes: what’s in Brad’s eyes isn’t the dawning of something _new_ ; it’s like looking at something that’s been there forever, tamped down so tightly she wasn’t _allowed_ to see it, and _that_ is, that is just—

Wow, he’s an asshole.

“You’re an asshole,” Ray informs him, walking around his desk to get in his space, briefly mourning the fact that his assholery doesn’t make her want to fuck him any less.

“I didn’t want you to doubt your grade, or how you got it,” Brad tells her.

“If I’d gotten an A while you were fucking me, it would _still_ have been because I’m the fucking smartest person in your class,” she snaps, and Brad stands up, crowds her against his desk.

“I know that,” he says, and there is nothing but certainty in his voice. That’s when Ray leans up to kiss him, yanking his glasses away and throwing them on his desk, straining on tiptoes until Brad angles down; and he’s holding back a little, making it slow and soft, like he’s still just that little bit unsure if she’s the kind of girl who wants the candy and flowers and bullshit or not.

She quickly clears up any of his lingering misconceptions. “I hope your plan for the foreseeable future was to fuck me over your desk,” she says against his mouth, biting his lip sharply. The taste of his laugh is fucking golden. Brad grabs Ray’s face, both hands, and kisses her in earnest; wet and messy, sucking on her tongue, raking his teeth over her lower lip until it feels raw and swollen.

His hands come down to grip the backs of her thighs, and he hauls her up effortlessly to sit on the edge of his desk, dragging her shirt over her head. Ray has her bra unhooked and off in a heartbeat, nipples tightened up in arousal, and Brad groans a little in the back of his throat.

“God, you drove me fucking crazy,” he says, touching two fingers to her lips, then palming her breasts in both hands, thumbs tracing circles around her nipples. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to be professional when you came to class in that skirt so short I could see up it every time you crossed your legs? When every other word out of your mouth was _fuck_ , whether you were insulting me or solving those problems that made just about everyone else in the class nearly cry?”

“Fuck you and your professional,” Ray pants, tightening her hand in Brad’s hair when he leans down to nip at her breast, sucking a bruise on the curve of it. “You have any idea how hard it was to be responsible and not tell you I wanted to ride you into next week? I’m no good at this self-denial bullshit. I can’t believe you made me wait a whole semester.”

Brad smirks against her skin. “No one ever taught you that patience is a virtue, did they?” he asks mockingly, thumb teasing at the top of her jeans, dipping under enough to snap the elastic waistband of her underwear.

“Patience is for pussies,” Ray says. “If you aren’t eating me out in the next thirty seconds, I will totally kick your ass.”

“Pushy,” Brad murmurs, and looks anything but displeased by that. He undoes the button on Ray’s jeans, pulls the zip down, and she helpfully wriggles until he slides them off her legs; and then his fingers are between her legs, pushing her panties to the side and sliding into her cunt, and she’s so wet she can hear the slick noise as he pulls them out again.

“Jesus fuck,” she swears when he sucks on his own fingers like he can’t get enough of the taste of her. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t—”

Her voice breaks mid-sentence when Brad yanks her panties down, nudging her legs fully apart, and then he’s settling in his chair like he’s planning on staying there for a while, leaning in to bite the inside of her thigh; he drags her hips forward a few more inches and finally, fucking _finally_ , get his mouth where Ray needs it. He licks a stripe up her folds, sucks gently on her clit until she swears brokenly at him again, hands white-knuckling on the edge of his desk.

Brad buries his face in her like there’s nowhere else he wants to be, and it’s so fucking good, Ray’s been wanting this for so long, that soon she feels it building and building inside her, spiraling up until she’s coming with Brad’s hands tightening hard around her trembling thighs.

“Get the fuck up here,” Ray orders roughly, and Brad lifts his head, mouth all shiny and obscenely wet from her, and her stomach clenches a little reflexively. Then Brad’s standing, leaning over her, kissing her fiercely and still tasting like her and she damn near rips the buttons off his shirt in her haste to get it open.

She bites him above his collarbone, hard, and he groans out, “ _Je_ sus, you little vampire.”

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t love it,” Ray says, satisfied, palming his cock through his pants. Brad’s hips push forward into her hand, and she continues, “Please tell me you have—”

“My wallet,” he says, reaching for it and pulling out a condom as she unzips him carefully.

“You Boy Scout, you,” she says, smirking, shoving down his underwear and fisting a hand around his cock.

“I am—an eternal optimist,” Brad says, breath hitching, voice strained at the edges, and okay, Ray needs less talking, more fucking as of like yesterday; she rolls the condom onto him and then he’s sinking into her, smooth and easy, hands clenching down on her hips.

“Better—make that semester-long wait worth it,” Ray pants, rolling her hips upward, and Brad grits his teeth, jaw clenching; she can see all of his iron self-control straining, all that poise and composure of his breaking because of _her_ , and fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing that has ever happened to her in her _life_.

“So fucking demanding,” he growls, slamming into her, taking her mouth in a greedy, vicious kiss full of bite and heat, and she _knows_ , that all of it—every time she came to class with her loose-hipped fuck-me swagger, that bite bruise on her throat, hell, every time she answered a question with a smirk on her face and her legs splayed open in her seat—he wanted her _too_.

“Brad, fuck,” she groans, and he shoves into her again, fingers teasing at her clit, and she comes with a hiccupping cry, clenching down around him until he follows her over the edge.

Ray’s still panting for breath when he pulls out of her, getting rid of the condom before he kisses her again, slower this time, steadying his breathing against her mouth. She can still taste herself on his tongue, and god, he makes her want to do this all over again, starting right now.

“I knew I was too hot to resist,” Ray says with her smuggest, widest grin.

Brad rolls his eyes. “You’re a menace, is what you are,” he tells her, but it’s unmistakably fond, soft, and his thumb is tracing circles on her hip.

Ray is loath to get dressed again, but she actually _does_ have shit to get done today, and if she hangs around any longer she’s probably going to see if she can suck Brad’s brain out of his cock. Once she’s all settled again, she smirks at Brad and says, “I hope you realize there is no way you’re getting out of playing professor/naughty student with me, now.”

“You want me to spank you and tell you you’ve been a bad girl?” Brad says mockingly; but his eyes travel up and down Ray’s body, dark and hot, and okay _yeah_ , leaving now, don’t have time for another round, Ray reminds herself.

She makes sure she leaves Brad’s office with that same swagger he’s seen on her before, and can’t quite erase the giddy edge to her grin.

Next stop: find Nate and scandalize the fuck out of him with the dirty details.

Today’s a good day.

\--

-


End file.
